


Losing You, Finding Me

by CGotAnAccount



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Camming, College and Beyond AU, Friends With Benefits, Hopeful Ending, Keith has lots of sex, M/M, Questionable Coping Methods, Self-Discovery, breaking up, finding happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26341177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: Life, as Keith knows and has begun to dream of it, ends on a sunny Friday afternoon.He still has a paper due on Monday.He no longer has a boyfriend.
Relationships: Keith/James, Keith/Others, Keith/Regris/Ryan Kinkade, Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Matt Holt/Keith
Comments: 86
Kudos: 262





	Losing You, Finding Me

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Baby's First Attempt at Angst - Featuring the elusive Breakup with Consequences!
> 
> Many thanks to Murph for listening to me yell and reading this over <3

Life, as Keith knows and has begun to dream of it, ends on a sunny Friday afternoon. He still has a paper due on Monday.

He no longer has a boyfriend.

Shiro is kind about it, of course. His voice is gentle as Keith's hands shake, explaining softly that it isn't him, of course not. It's just that he's been accepted into the grad school of his dreams all the way across the country, and that long distance is _hard._ That he doesn't want to put Keith through two years of that.

Keith thinks, distantly, that being put through this – watching your hopes and dreams pour down the drain in front of your very eyes because the man you love unconditionally, who claims he loves you too, thinks the distance will be too much – isn't exactly easy either.

But Shiro's voice doesn't waver. His jaw doesn't tremble. He's thought this through of course, one of his prepared speeches that he's used to giving to motivate troubled students. Students like Keith, who once upon a time was convinced that Shiro would always be there for him. When he manages to peel his eyes from dead leaves skittering across the paving stones beneath their feet, Keith looks up into Shiro's dry eyes.

They're full of concern, _of course._ Waiting for Keith to fly into a million little pieces.

Instead he takes a breath, locks everything down deep inside himself in the little box where he keeps his heart... his dreams of forever... of a home and dogs and road trips to the Grand Canyon where he would offer up a little silver band...

And snuffs them all out with a whisper.

“Okay.”

Shiro offers to walk him back to his dorm – the one he shares with Matt, who happens to be his now ex-boyfriend's best friend – but Keith can only shake his head, hands stuffed in his pockets as he shuffles his feet on the pavement. The last thing he needs is for Shiro to see him lose his shit on the walk home. Not that he's going to. Not that he has any feelings, because he doesn't. Obviously.

He's fine.

He's fine the entire lonely, chilly walk back to the dorms. He hadn't bothered bringing his gloves or a thicker jacket since Shiro likes to tuck Keith's hands in his and sling an arm around his shoulders. Like an idiot he'd been expecting a romantic stroll.

Like an idiot he thought Shiro would love him forever.

He's fine when he manages to get his trembling key into the lock. Fine when he pushes the door open and lets it thunk behind him. Fine when his keys go in the bowl and he's left standing in the middle of their apartment.

The scarf Shiro made him keep last time is hung on the coat hook.

There's shuffling down the hall, but Keith just stares at that scarf until he's staring at Matt – who's suddenly in front of him waving a hand in his face with a concerned frown.

“Keith?”

He blinks at him, at the open set of his shoulders and the tilt to his head. Shiro hasn't told him the good news yet.

“Matt.”

It's a croak, thick and rasping. Nothing else comes out.

“Hey buddy, are you okay? I thought you and Shiro were gonna be gone a while.”

He can't stop the way his face crumples, or the choked sob that erupts when he opens his mouth to say... something.

“Keith?!” Matt's on him in an instant, arms curling up around him and cupping the back of his head as Keith sobs into his shoulder, ugly hiccuping things that wrack his entire body. “Dude what happened? Is Shiro okay or-”

And _oh_ , Keith thinks, Shiro is fine alright. Shiro is more than fine, he's sure. Shiro is probably collapsing onto his couch in relief that he doesn't have to deal with Keith anymore. He's probably popping champagne as they speak, Shiro is-

“He's fine,” Keith coughs out, fisting his hands into the material of Matt's t-shirt, like he might be able to keep his friend from following suit and leaving him. “He's... we...” The words feel like bile stuck in his throat, scoring as they tumble into Matt's shoulder. “H-he dumped me.”

Matt stiffens beneath him, and Keith feels himself crumble a little more, unable to even brace himself for the inevitable.

“He _what?_ ” Matt pulls back to hold him at arm's length, face the picture of indignation as his eyes search Keith's own – blotchy and pathetic. No wonder why- “That _fucking_ _idiot._ ”

Wiry arms yank him back in, holding tighter this time as Keith trembles like a leaf in his embrace. There's a broad palm smoothing up and down his back, clenching every time Keith shudders out another hiccup.

“Keith, I am so sorry.” Matt mumbles into his hair, sounding a little shell shocked himself. “I.. did he say why?”

Keith nods, smearing his face in the disgusting wet patch he's made on Matt's shirt. “Doesn't want to be tied down to dead weight like me in grad school.”

Matt's fingers dig into his back like claws.

“Don't tell me he fucking said that-”

“No.” He shakes his head, shoulders slumping, unable to make Shiro look like the bad guy even now. “But that's what he meant... didn't want to do distance.”

“Fucking _idiot_ ,” Matt repeats, but it's resigned. He pulls Keith's head away from him enough to lead them out of the entryway and over to the couch, settling himself before tugging Keith down into his arms. “I'm so sorry Keith...”

“S'not your fault,” Keith sniffles, attempting a weak shrug as he burrows into the temporary comfort. “I'm just not-”

“Don't you finish that sentence,” Matt growls, butting his chin into Keith's head. “I don't know what the fuck he's doing, but you didn't do _anything_ , okay? You didn't do anything, Keith.”

“I-”

“Nope.” Matt's arms wind around him tighter to punctuate his grunt, and his feet hook over Keith's ankles, trapping him into an octopus hug. “He's an idiot, that's it... you've been _disgustingly_ good to him.”

Still trembling, Keith burrows his face in again to hide the fresh wave of tears and the way his throat clicks when he swallows.

“Will you still live here then?”

“Pffft, duh.” Matt huffs and nudges his ribs, like he's trying to keep it intentionally light for Keith's sake. “You can't get rid of me just 'cause Shiro's a fucking moron... a great roommate doesn't come along every day, right?”

Keith nods into his armpit, sagging in relief that he won't have to find new housing too.

Of course, Matt doesn't miss a thing. “...Did you think I was just gonna ditch you?”

Keith shrugs again, not willing to unburrow his face and give up his last shred of dignity. “You were his friend first.”

“And I'm your friend too,” Matt insists with a grumble, “and that means I'm here when you're down, right?”

The room is quiet for a moment, save for Keith's sniffling breaths and the quiet steady thump of Matt's heart beneath his cheek.

“...thanks Matt.”

“Of course, Keith. I'm always gonna have your back.”

That night is a blur. Matt eventually peels them off the couch, grimacing when he catches sight of Keith's tear and snot streaked face, and shoos Keith off to the shower – insisting he'll feel at least a little bit better after.

He's mostly wrong. Keith briefly contemplates tipping his chin up and drowning himself in the spray, but settles for sitting under it until the water goes icy and Matt has to fish his shivering form out of the bathroom with a sigh.

“Buddy, I gotta go to work... are you gonna be okay?” He tips Keith's chin up with one hand to search his face, even as he helps towel him off with the other. “I can always call in if you need it, no sweat.”

Teeth chattering too hard to speak, Keith shakes his head, sending icy droplets cascading down his shoulders.

Matt sighs again, fingers tightening on him through the towel.

“Okay... but call me if you need anything, alright? And don't do anything stupid.”

Keith's pretty certain he's reached his quota for stupid today already for believing that his happiness could last, but Matt means well, so he nods again and pulls the towel more tightly around himself.

It seems to appease his friend at least, since Matt does go to work – leaving Keith to sit on his bed shivering, staring at the wall and wondering where it all went wrong. He thinks his phone buzzes once or twice, but honestly the thought that the messages might be from Shiro is just as nauseating as the knowledge that they're not.

Matt comes back eventually, takes one look at him still glassy-eyed on the bed in his towel, and sighs again. It's probably only a matter of time before he gives up too.

“Did you eat anything?”

It's all he can do to shake his head.

“Are you hungry?”

Another shake.

“Okay buddy.” The bed dips next to him and a warm weight settles around his shoulders. “This sucks, and I'm sorry... but please, take care of yourself, okay?”

Keith hesitates, then nods, closing his eyes against the tears prickling behind his eyelids.

The weight squeezes for a moment, then there's a press of a kiss against his temple before Matt pulls away to stand.

“Try to get some sleep dude.”

Keith nods, probably.

The rest of the week is no better. He thinks he makes it to all his classes. There are notes in his notebook that aren't in his handwriting and color coded flashcards in his backpack next to a sandwich he doesn't remember making. Between that and Hunk's sympathetic cringe every time he's around he can only guess someone broke the news to the rest of their friends.

He doesn't join them for their weekly Friday night pizza ritual at Allura and Shiro's place, not ready to see Shiro utterly unaffected without him. Really he doesn't leave their apartment much at all if he doesn't have to.

By the third week a kind of numbness has set in, like he's been sent to stumble through the fog with a chest cavity full of Novocain. It must look worse than it feels though, since even Lance hasn't made any stupid comments about it yet. About the fact that Shiro finally wised up and realized how far out of Keith's league he is... but Keith's a good friend. He's always been a giver.

“You can say it, you know,” he croaks out to Lance as they eat their sandwiches together before class. His voice sounds like a rusty fence gate from disuse. “I know you want to.”

Lance startles, head cocked and wary as he looks up from his food. “Say what?”

“That it's been a long time coming.” Keith laughs, a dry, dead thing. “That you were right and he's too good for me... like you did when we started dating.”

Lance's face splinters.

“ _Keith-_ ” His voice is pained and the sandwich plops into his lap. “Buddy... _no._ ”

“Why not.” Keith shrugs and picks at the piece of lettuce sticking out from the edge of his bread. “It's true.”

“It _isn't_.”

Keith doesn't react to the forceful protest, too busy hating himself to care.

Lance growls in frustration and slaps his food down onto the bench next to him so he can grab Keith's shoulders – scowling at his friend's apathetic face. “Shiro might've been my hero, but right now he's a fucking moron, okay?” He gives Keith a little shake when he doesn't respond. “I'm serious! Friends don't do that shit to each other, I don't care what his reasoning is, he sucks.”

Keith still doesn't look up, but his lip starts to wobble.

“Oh shit, oh fuck-” Lance yanks his hands off and flails around for his phone. “Oh jesus, let me call Hunk, I don't know what to do with-”

“Thanks.” Keith scoots an inch closer, leaving a mere five between them as a social buffer. “I... thank you.”

“Uh, yeah buddy...” Lance chuckles nervously as he taps out a frantic message. “Don't worry, Hunk will be here soon.”

And really, if things could still feel nice, that probably would.

Miraculously, he makes it through finals with the help of Pidge's tutoring – and without seeing Shiro again. He's almost certain the other man is avoiding him on purpose. He hasn't bothered to see if evidence of their relationship has been purged from all social media already, not that he has any of his own to check... but then again, that's not really Shiro's style.

There's still no new messages on his phone after the one asking him to meet in the park... but maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it's best to just... fade out.

Shiro and Allura graduate on a Sunday morning.

Keith doesn't go, but he hears that she looked radiant.

He doesn't look for pictures.

Matt isn't home that afternoon and comes home late that evening, giving no explanation of where he's been – but he doesn't need to, and Keith's not selfish enough to hold it against him.

He is selfish enough to hold onto _him_.

As it turns out, having your best friend move across the country leaves a guy pretty lonely. And two lonely guys sharing an apartment all summer with no one else still around... nothing to distract themselves with, and well...

The first time it happens is a surprise – just one beer too many between them and too many months alone. Keith can tell Matt's anxious, his shoulders are tensed even as his lips move against Keith's own. Keith pushes down his own anxiety, his frustration, and nips at Matt's lip before pulling back to search his eyes in the twilight of their living room.

“Hey, talk to me?”

“Are you gonna regret this?” Matt blurts out, then clamps his lips shut as he colors in embarrassed horror. “I- I mean-”

“No,” Keith grunts, settling his weight more firmly into Matt's lap. “I'm not going to regret this, because you're my best friend and I'm fucking lonely, and I haven't gotten laid in six months, and we both got ditched.”

“Oh.” Matt blinks up at him, hands coming up to cradle Keith's hips with tentative fingers. “Wow. I mean... yeah. Okay then.”

“Okay?” Keith ducks to bring their faces together again, lips close enough to share breath. “Then you want this?”

“Dude, you're hot as fuck and it's been even longer for me,” Matt practically wheezes, rolling his hips up to prove just how okay he is with the situation. “I mean, if someone else hadn't gotten there first I'd have been hitting on you from day one.”

The earnest, horny words light a spark in Keith – one he thought might be doused completely. He flashes a wicked grin down at his best friend before closing the gap, pressing for entry and licking inside Matt's mouth in a hot slide that's a preview of things to come.

The summer gets a lot better from there.

Classes start again, and their weekly pizza meet-up moves into his and Matt's apartment since it's easily twice the size of the hovel the other three share – not to mention most of Matt's messier experiments end up in Pidge's room anyway... at least the ones that don't happen in the bedroom.

Judging by the wrinkle of Pidge's nose when they pile inside the little walk-up, she can tell.

“Don't you guys ever air this place out?”

Matt snorts, ruffling her hair in response as he snags the pizza from her arms.

“Sorry Pigeon, your brother's raw animal magnetism cannot be erased by the wind.”

“Gross.”

Hunk hums his agreement behind her, making a beeline for the lysol wipes under the sink so he can disinfect all the counters before the pizza goes down.

“At least they had the decency to empty their trashcan... unlike _some_ people.”

“Hey!” Lance squawks, stumbling in behind with the sodas and kicking the door shut behind him. “That was one time, and you didn't have to be snooping around in my room anyway!”

“I was looking for the remote,” Hunk grumbles, firmly avoiding looking at his roommate, “which you _had_ stolen and I had to dig out from under a pile of used tissues.”

“Euuughh.” Keith mimes gagging over the sink as he gathers up enough assorted plates for everyone.

“Like you and Matt aren't just as bad,” Lance huffs, elbowing him in the ribs as he passes by to get the cups, “at least when it was Shiro I knew someone had the decency to clean up after...”

The general ruckus of arrival cuts off with the scrape of plates as they clatter from Keith's numb hands onto the counter.

“God dammit-” Pidge growls, stalking forward to smack the back of Lance's head, “-we had _one rule_.”

“Ow, fuck! I'm sorry!” Lance squeals, ducking and covering his head with his arms as Pidge abuses him. “I forgot, shit- ow!”

Keith just stares at the plates, vaguely grateful that he and Matt are cheap and opted for the plastic ones that are nearly unbreakable.

“It's fine.” He piles them up slowly, shoulders tense with the weight of his friends' concern. “It's been a while... ancient history.”

Conversation resumes, a little awkward and stilted, but better than the silence from before. Matt creeps up behind him, pressing his palm between Keith's shoulders with a wry smile as he grabs paper towels from the roll.

“It's okay, you know,” he murmurs, fingertips pressing in just a touch as he glances over at Keith's drawn face, “it's okay if it sucks... if it still hurts.”

“I know.” Keith sighs, tipping his head just enough to offer Matt the ghost of a smile. “I'll be okay.”

“I know you will.” The gentle touch turns into a playful smack to the hip as Matt steps away. “You're tougher than you look.”

“Pfttt.” The plates get snatched up as Keith whirls after him, a crinkle to his eyes this time. “I'm exactly as tough as I look.”

“Oh definitely,” Hunk agrees from the other side of the kitchen island where he's pulling apart slices, “Keith looks like he might shank someone in an alley without batting an eye.”

“Thank you, Hunk.” Keith grunts, sliding the stack over for ease of slice distribution, “It's nice to be recognized every once in a while.”

The rest of the night continues without much fanfare. There's the usual games that don't last quite as long with two people missing, the jokes that make Keith look over to share a conspiratorial grin with someone who isn't there, the games of Mario Kart that don't include the worst driving he's ever seen...

It's the new normal, he supposes. His entire life has been doomed to be haunted by ghosts of people who leave him – why would this time be any different?

Matt notices the melancholy around midnight, and promptly makes an ass of himself yawning too dramatically to be anything but a show.

“Well guys, it's been nice and all... but I'm tired now so... skedaddle.”

The others trudge home with minimal ribbing, leaving Matt to lock the door behind them before collapsing on the couch. He throws an arm around Keith's shoulder where he's slumped into the arm, nonchalant as can be.

“You didn't have to do that,” Keith mumbles, sleepy and sad, but grateful to be able to drop his social mask.

Matt shrugs by way of answer and digs his thumb into a knot of tension in Keith's shoulder. “I was tired.”

Keith grunts out a disbelieving huff, but lets it go. Sometimes he thinks Matt is too good to him... to kind for someone babysitting their best-friend's ex boyfriend. It's not exactly a great feeling – one that leaves a squirmy sick pit in his stomach as he waits for the other shoe to drop... for him to leave too. After all, it's not like any of them are going to stick together after college.

But that's a problem for future Keith. Hopefully future Keith will have a little more of his shit sorted out, and a little less pathetic reliance on people who pity the poor idiot that got dumped. Hopefully by then just living will be enough for him.

He tips his head back on the sofa, closes his eyes, and ignores the sting behind them.

Class work is surprisingly easy with nothing to focus on but studying.

Well... studying and occasionally trying to drink himself into an early grave, but those two don't usually happen at the same time, so he figures it's fine. Either way his grades are higher than ever, even without the built in tutor that he's had the last two years.

At least there's one shitty silver lining to the flaming wreck that his life has become – now he can be sure he's not a fucking idiot.

Or maybe he is... why else would he be at this dingy fucking bar on a Friday night without Matt as a social buffer? It's certainly not for the ambiance, not with the way the band on stage is thrashing and growling into the microphones – or for the high quality food.

But the whiskey's cheap and strong enough that he finally feels something when it slides down hot and fast. He can feel the ghostly fingers of a disappointed stare from across space and time... and promptly slams another shot down. The bartender raises an eyebrow in question from where she's polishing glasses, but he shakes his head and fishes out some crumpled bills to cover his tab.

“Thanks Acxa.”

“Pleasure's mine.” She swipes them off the counter with nimble fingers and stuffs them in the till, plucking out the change that he declines with a shake of his head. “You gonna be sticking around?”

Keith shrugs and nudges the stool back in with his foot as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Dunno... band is kinda shit.”

“Bassist fucks like a pro,” she counters, mouth pulling into the hint of a teasing grin, “you look like you could use it.”

He grunts out half a startled laugh and turns to squint through the smoke and gloom toward the stage.

“The tall guy? Kinda lanky?”

“Believe me, he's anything but.” She shakes her head with a wistful sigh. “If I wasn't too gay to appreciate being on the receiving end of a good dicking-down I'd give him another ride.”

“Huh.” Keith flicks her a glance, then stretches onto his toes, brow furrowed as he tries to get a better look at the guy. “What's his name?”

“Regris.” Acxa winds up the edge of her bar rag and mimes a whipping motion at him. “Their set is almost over, and nobody ever asks The Blades for an encore... you should give him a chance.”

The snort that escapes him is more bitter than he intends.

“What, so I can meet my true love and live happily ever after?”

“No, jackass.” She really does snap his knuckles this time, leaving him to nurse them with a pout. “So you can get someone to fuck the depression out of you... that skinny twink of a friend of yours clearly isn't doing it.”

“Hey, Matt's a good lay,” Keith argues, bound by some sense of duty to defend his friend's bed cred, “way better than the horror stories I've heard.”

“And pizza's a 'good' dinner,” Acxa retorts, eyebrow arched in disbelief before she relents with a shrug. “But I guess he's cute enough... if you're into that sort of thing.”

“I'm feeling a little judged.”

She offers him the tiniest shrug before winding up her towel again in an implicit threat. “That's why you come to see me these days, isn't it? Now go give him a chance before he gives himself whiskey dick.”

He shakes his head, but does as he's told, shuffling off into the writhing mass of bodies just as the set comes to a cacophonous end. It sounds particularly appropriate for what he's about to try.

The bassist, Regris, is fairly impressive up close – sparking something low and hot as he tips his head back to chug the rest of his bottle on his way off the stage. His leather vest hangs open, revealing the kind of lean abs Keith could probably roll marbles through and a trail of dark hair that's nestled between the deep V of his hips, dipping into ratty low-slung jeans.

For the first time in a long time, Keith wants.

Wants enough to loiter by the edge of the stairs, hands still stuffed in his pockets and best disaffected look firmly in place. He jerks his chin up in greeting as Regris passes – it's enough to get him to pause, looming over Keith in a way that sets his pulse thrumming.

“You're Regris?”

“Yeah.” He nods, head cocked as he lets his eyes drag down Keith's body with clear interest. “Can I help you?”

“Acxa thinks you can.”

Regris's body loosens at the mention of the flinty bartender, a handsome smile flickering across his face. “Well she's rarely wrong.” He offers a hand out for Keith to shake, warm and firm when it wraps around his much more slender fingers. “Can I grab you a drink, ah...”

“Keith,” he supplies with a smile of his own as he steps in closer, “and you don't really need to, I've had enough liquid courage to get this far haven't I?”

“You don't need it with a face like that,” Regris huffs a laugh, tugging him in by the hand as he tips his chin toward the hallway leading back behind the stage and into the alleyway beyond. “But if you're interested, my place is right around the corner...”

Keith knows this probably isn't a great idea, but he also knows that Acxa wouldn't let anything happen to him, and she knows he's gone off with this guy, so he can't be too bad.

More to the point, he knows he hasn't gotten well and truly fucked in months, and apparently it's starting to show.

“Lead the way then.” He steps right into Regris's space, reveling in the feeling of that muscled arm as it wraps around his waist and tugs him close – of those long fingers hooking possessively into his belt loop.

The walk back is short but electric, made unbearable by the roughened texture of a calloused thumb stroking the exposed skin above his belt. By the time they make it to the other man's door Keith is about to climb him in the street – but the bruising kiss that pins him to the frame leaves his head too foggy to complain about the wait, too full of teeth and fire and a promise of the night to come.

He wakes deliciously sore, but not as disgustingly sticky or hungover as he'd expected. The guy has surprisingly high thread count sheets for someone who plays bass in a grunge band, and Keith takes his time stretching out in the obscenely large bed, letting his spine pop and his limbs unfurl as he takes stock of himself.

His entire torso and thighs are covered in love bites – and judging from the vague sting, his neck probably is too. His ass feels like he's gone a few rounds with Godzilla, but in a good way, and if he closes his eyes he can still feel the ghost of the hands that left the bruises on his hips – the ones that held him steady, tugging him back onto a cock until he was sobbing and shaking through his third orgasm of the night. There's a particularly sharp sting on one of his asscheeks... probably from the bite Regris had left after hauling Keith up to sit on his face so he could lick his mess back out after their fifth round.

Speaking of, the headboard appears to have been wiped clean where Keith knows he definitely shot at least two loads.

What he doesn't feel is the ever-present tension in his neck and shoulders – the weight of gloom and life pressing down on him until he suffocates under it. Apparently Acxa was right and this guy really does have a magical dick.

Even more magical are the painkillers and water sitting on the bedside table that Keith gratefully scoops up and swallows without preamble. Fucks like a champ _and_ thoughtful.

His legs are wobbly when he throws them over the edge of the bed, smirking at the trail of scattered clothes leading into the hallway as he opts to pull on just his boxers. The apartment is mostly quiet except for some clattering in the kitchen that Keith pads down the hallway toward – expecting to find Casanova.

What he finds instead is one of his occasional study-buddies piling pancakes onto a plate next to a coffee mug.

Maybe he got fucked into the headboard a little too hard...

“Uuh?” Keith squeaks out before he can stop it, wincing immediately as Ryan Kinkade turns and offers him a blinding grin.

“Hey Keith,” he greets him like it's totally normal for Keith to be mostly naked in his kitchen on a Saturday morning, “Reg had to step out early this morning and didn't want to wake you, but I made enough coffee and pancakes for everyone if you're interested.”

He is interested. And also thoroughly confused as he shuffles forward into the kitchen like a skittish dog, gingerly accepting the plate and sliding onto the stool Ryan gestures toward.

“Didn't know you were his roommate,” he grunts, stating the obvious through a mouthful of carbs and caffeine.

“Easier that way,” Ryan shrugs, still smiling cheerily as he settles across the kitchen island to dig into his own plate, “we've been camming together so long now that having other roommates just gets inconvenient.”

“Ah.” Keith nods as he chews, thinking back on what was far and away the best sex of his life. “That explains it.”

“Right?” His accidental breakfast date offers a conspiratorial eyebrow wiggle. “When he gets going I'm lucky if I can think the next day... judging by how you sounded last night I bet you agree.”

A chunk of pancake gets lodged in his windpipe as Keith inhales, sending him into a coughing fit that leaves him with an excuse for his pink cheeks at least.

“I'm just fucking with you dude,” Ryan laughs, reaching across the table to nudge the coffee mug closer. “I came back real late, you're good.”

Keith closes his eyes and tries to drown himself in coffee. It doesn't work, but at least they buy the good stuff.

“So, uh...” He casts around weakly for something, _anything_ to make this less awkward. “You guys have a nice place?”

“Thanks man.” The beaming, pancake-filled smile is genuine as Ryan perks up and jerks a thumb behind him. “We finally got an audience big enough to splurge on a place with a kitchen backsplash... Reg wanted to settle for paneling.”

Keith can't stifle his snort of derision as he stabs into his next pancake. “Seriously? Look at that subway tile...”

“That's what I said,” Ryan grunts, clearly feeling vindicated. “This is where I study when we're not meeting up on campus... can you imagine trying to figure out Iverson's problem sets with paneling looming behind you?”

“Depressing,” Keith agrees, easing into a slump with his elbows on the table as his anti-social lizard brain remembers he actually likes Kinkade. “Speaking of, did you manage to figure out the last set on the study guide? I don't have it with me or anything, but it was kicking my ass.”

“Not yet – but I was going to rope a few people into meeting later to give it a shot. You can join us if you want?”

“Sure, usual place?”

Ryan nods, but gets cut off but the rattling of the door as Regris traipses back inside with a backpack and a bag of bagels.

“Oh, hey guys-” He plunks the bag on the floor and sets the bag on the counter. “-I wasn't sure if there was enough mix, so I grabbed something on the way back.”

“Solid plan.” Ryan nods, leaning over to peer into the bag as Regris digs through the fridge behind him. “I've seen Keith put away an entire pizza by himself during finals week.”

“You two know each other?”

Keith nods at the look of pleasant surprise on last night's conquest. “Yeah, we're in the same program... we study together sometimes.”

“Keith is brilliant,” Ryan mentions casually as he accepts the proffered cream cheese from his roommate. “It was him and Hunk that I kept disappearing with at the end of last semester.”

“The guy that sent you home with those amazing cookies?”

The puppy-like hopeful tone is so incongruous with this giant tattooed sex god that it startles a laugh out of Keith.

“I'll let Hunk know you appreciate his baking... maybe I'll drop some off as a thank you for the best stress relief of my life.”

“Oh! Uh- that'd be great...” The man is actually blushing now, in broad daylight in his own kitchen, like he didn't ruin Keith six different ways last night. “I mean, if it's no trouble to him. That guy could totally open a bakery.” He pauses and scrubs a hand through the back of his hair. “And, you're welcome, I mean... thank you too?”

“Oh my god, you're so fucking awkward Reg,” Ryan grumbles as he spreads the cream cheese on a bagel and passes it over to Keith. “How do you even get people to agree to sleep with you in the first place?”

“Acxa,” Keith and Regris blurt simultaneously.

Keith pauses for a tick, biting back a laugh as he eyes the lanky man hovering around his own counters like he doesn't know where he's welcome. “Does she do all your vetting?”

“Pretty much,” Regris sighs, finally settling down on a stool to accept a bagel of his own from his roommate. “She says, uh... that... um...”

Ryan takes pity on his stammering.

“She says, and I quote- 'I'm too gay to enjoy taking it properly, but that dick is a gift to the world' -he's just shy.”

Keith sips his coffee and enjoys the fact that he's not the one trying to melt into an embarrassed puddle, despite sitting in his hook-up's kitchen in nothing but yesterday's boxers.

“Well, she's not wrong.”

Regris melts further, pressing one hand to his forehead as the other shoves bagel into his mouth. He offers a weak thumbs up as he chews, but declines to make eye contact under the weight of Ryan's continued snickering.

“Anyway, you should join us sometime on camera,” Ryan offers, utterly nonchalant. “We have guests sometimes, and you're pretty fucking hot. I bet our audience would eat it up.”

The coffee goes down his windpipe, leaving Keith sputtering for a second time as Regris hides his smile behind his hand.

“Are you serious?” Keith wheezes out, teary-eyed as he glances between the two smoking hot and incredibly tempting roommates. “I don't know if I really fit your 'buff as fuck' aesthetic.”

“Even better,” Regris practically purrs, oozing every ounce of confidence that Keith felt keenly last night. “You'd look fantastic between us.”

“Oh, I um... _wow._ ” A nervous titter bubbles up out of Keith, bringing a flush he can feel with it. “Uhhm... can I think about it and get back to you?”

“Of course dude,” Ryan laughs, shaking his head as he munches on his breakfast. “And you've still got to help me with Iverson's work either way.”

And that's how Keith ends up as the occasional guest star on one of the most popular gay camming streams on the internet.

Matt oozes envy once he sees the level of beef Keith has railing him into the mattress... he oozes something else later when he watches Keith's first guest stream and subsequently buys them a joint subscription. Keith's gotta admit, they look good together – not that Regris and Ryan aren't a goddamn wet dream all on their own. He can hardly believe that he hadn't seen them streaming before, their channel is literally on the first page when they go live.

But then again, the last year of his life has been a muted haze... it's not like he's been watching a lot of porn. Or, you know, feeling things.

Now though? He's got more feelings than he knows what to do with.

Chiefly, the feeling of being split open as he tries to take them both for the first time. It's something they've been working up to – starting slow with some spitroasting and letting them run a train on him, which works great since Kinkade's into sloppy seconds more than the average guy. Keith's lost count of the number of times the man's used his roommates cum as lube to fuck Keith into drooling incoherence, then pulled out just in time to mark his gasping mouth. But that's all easy stuff... today Keith can tell he's going to be stretched to his limits, despite nearly an hour of gentle prep and massaging they've done to get him relaxed enough not to cause damage.

He can't fucking wait.

By the time the stream goes live his spine is jello, cradled by Regris's huge hands as he eases Keith down onto his cock. It's almost grounding at this point, being filled so well as they take care of him. He can hear Ryan talking to the camera, can feel the hand stroking up and down his thigh, creeping ever closer until wet fingers slip inside his hole and ease him that much more open. Not that he can be bothered to care at this point – not when his entire life has narrowed down to this black hole of pleasure sucking him under. He barely notices when an extra finger becomes two, then three coaxing his body to open up impossibly more.

The weight that settles on his back is the best kind of blanket, smooshing his face into tattooed pecs and the steady thumping rhythm under his cheek... then there's blunt pressure, hot and slick and _so much_ that he can't help the clench and whine as he tries to arch his back into it.

“Shhh, you can do it, Red.” Regris breathes against his ear even as his broad hands slip to cup Keith's cheeks and spread them wide to give Ryan more room. “You're such a good boy, you're gonna take us so well.”

Keith's whine slides into an open mouthed whimper as Ryan nudges in, slowly... slowly. The chest under him rumbles in a groan of subdued pleasure as Regris's nails dig in and his hips jerk in aborted thrusts.

“Fuck, he's so _tight-_ ” Ryan growls against his neck, arms trembling on either side of Keith's shoulders as he works his way inside. “Perfect, baby, you're fucking perfect-”

Keith melts under the praise, going lax as he slips under the warm buzzing in his veins.

And then they're both in all the way, and two sets of lips are lavishing him in attention. There are teeth in the back of his neck, a mark blooming on his neck followed by the swipe of a tongue... the ebb and flow of two bodies pushing into his own. He's burning alive, spine sparking in pleasure, blood molten gold as he's used.

The room is filled with grunts and groans, punctuated by high pitched whines that he realizes distantly are coming from his own throat, but he can't stop them. He can't stop anything, can only let himself drown in the riptide of sensation. He can't tell if he's been coming for hours, or not at all – there are tears on his cheeks and the slick squelching sounds as they move should mean something, but he's too far gone for that now.

There's a hand in his hair, pulling his face up to kiss the salt away, and a murmur in his ears.

“Hey, Red? Look at me baby.”

Keith blinks away the tears, still panting and shuddering as he meet's Regris's gaze. “Mmn?”

“Are you okay?”

“S'good.” It's more of a slur than words, but judging by the crooked grin and the way they start moving inside him again they get the point.

At some point a hand wraps around him, coaxing up a flare of pleasure so strong it's nearly painful and he finds himself panting and limp as the endless sparkling drag inside him stutters to a halt. A beat of nothing but shared breaths passes, then the delicious pressure inside him eases and he's moaning again – going crazy for the feeling of so much spilling out of him.

“Holy shit, he's cumming _again-_ ”

And maybe he is? He can't really tell, it's the same almost suffocating pleasure shuddering through him, even as his body has nothing left to give.

Two sets of hands ease him off the cock still filling him, weighty enough to set his mouth watering even when it's been spent thoroughly inside of him already.

Then he's gathered into someone's lap, pressed back against a warm chest as a straw is brought to his lips.

“Take a sip baby, you lost a lot of fluid.”

“No shit, he came like four times...”

He opens his mouth obediently, sticking his tongue out in a bleary haze and hears the faint chiming sounds begin to filter back in.

“Nnnh?”

“You did great, Red.” Ryan ruffles his sweaty hair, pushing it off his forehead and tucking it behind his ears when he's done. “An absolute champ.”

“Woo,” Keith croaks around the straw, letting his head loll back onto the shoulder behind him.

He hears Ryan's disgruntled huff from near the laptop and cracks an eye, blearily admiring the shape of his bent-over ass as he reads audience commentary.

“Hey Red, can you confirm for a concerned viewer over here – who was perfectly happy to watch you get plowed I'm sure – that we didn't dope you up?”

“Pffft,” Keith snaps an attempt at a finger gun toward the camera near the end of Regris's massive bed. “Only high off that dick, amirite?”

Regris snorts into his hair, shaking his head before tucking his chin over Keith's shaggy mop. “We don't need to drug our guest stars, but thanks for your concern.”

Ryan grunts his agreement from the side before giving their brief closing spiel and shutting everything down.

“Let me get you a washcloth and some pre-emptive advil...”

“Shit, you got any weed?” Keith calls after him, only half joking. “I don't know if advil is gonna reconstruct my asshole.”

“Joints or edibles?”

“Uh...” Keith blinks, then twists to squint up at Regris, who smiles back at him entirely too earnestly. “I dunno, I've never uh... smoked?”

“Hey Ryan,” Regris calls into the hallway, “grab the brownies!”

A minute later the man of Keith's dreams reappears with brownies and a washcloth and he gets to lounge against a bed of muscle while being wiped down and hand fed. It's certainly not the worst coping method.

The excess of feelings are easier to manage after that... apparently sometimes all you need is a hobby and some snacks to recover from the utter train wreck of your life.

But honestly, it also helps that he's never had sex like this – not from _anyone_. All the hand-holding and 'I love yous' in the world can't compare to the sublime ecstasy of getting railed into the next dimension by two guys who look like they belong in a magazine.

At least, that's what he tells himself these days.

Even his class work feels more manageable now that he's convinced Matt that they should keep some special snacks in their fridge too. After all, it's hard to be anxious about a test when you're high as a kite, or when your studying turns into getting one congratulatory thrust for every correctly answered flash card... really, he should have thought about this kind of reward system earlier.

Sometimes, when he finds himself in a rare moment alone with his thoughts, he feels a kind of vindicated thrill. He's got just over a year left of school now, his grades are better than ever, and he's got more of a social circle than he'd ever thought possible peeking out from someone else's shadow. Really, getting dumped was probably the best thing that ever happened to him. A nice reminder from reality that if something looks too good to be true then it probably isn't.

And now? Life is... it's good. He's got friends, he works hard... he's got a little extra income since Reg and Ryan insist on giving him a cut from their videos together.

He's also earning a reputation.

It starts like this: James Griffin, king of the ass-stick, slinks up to him in the middle of the quad and doesn't immediately make snide commentary. It's enough of an oddity to get Keith to push his aviators into his hair to quirk an eyebrow at him.

“Can I help you?”

“Maybe.” Griffin winces, looking around furtively, like he thinks Keith might ask him to try meth in the middle of campus. “I um... I hear you uh-”

He trails off awkwardly, his eyebrow raised in some cryptic meaning Keith isn't willing to parse.

“Spit it out, Griffin.”

“God, you're such an asshole,” he grumbles, hand clenching on the strap of his bag as he blows a breath through his teeth. “Ryan said you're um... _working_ with him, and that you might be open to uh... stress relief.”

Keith blinks at him, the gears in his mind grinding to a halt as Griffin continues to sweat and fidget in front of him.

“I'm sorry... _what_?” He shakes his head, dragging a hand across his face with a sigh. “Ryan told you I might be open to fucking the stress out of you?”

“Well when you put it like _that-_ ” Griffin wheezes, shoulders hunching to his ears. “Look, forget about it, this was stupid-”

“Ohoo no.” Keith grins, tonguing a canine as he gives the man an appraising once over. “You know what? Sure.” He heaves himself off the ground and brushes off his jacket. “That's not the worst idea I've ever heard, and you do look about four seconds from grinding your back molars into a pulp.”

“Professor Slav's class,” Griffin grumbles, consciously unclenching his jaw. “Anyway, you know, it can be just a one time thing or whatever... if it even works...”

“Oh trust me,” Keith chuckles, clapping Griffin on the back with a conspiratorial grin, “I've been on the receiving end of this kind of stress relief... it can do wonders.”

Which is how he finds himself meeting up with Griffin every other week to tie the poor nerd up and fuck him until he forgets what a differential equation even is. He can't lie, the power trip is half the fun – and Griffin is a better lay than he expected, all soft and pliant in a way that contrasts nicely with Matt's brand of a rodeo.

What's even more surprising is the string of freshman shyly approaching him after classes and in the mess hall, mentioning in hushed tones that they hear he's available for a good time.

“I don't know how this happened,” he grumbles to Matt as they sprawl across their couch. “You agree to do a few porn videos because that dick is that good, and now suddenly you're the pied piper of twinks.”

“It is a bit counter intuitive,” Matt agrees through a mouthful of popcorn, “if I saw those videos I'd want to fuck you, not get fucked by you, right?”

“Exactly.” Keith grunts, leaning over to steal a handful only to have his hand swatted away. “I'm starting to feel like some kind of breeding stud... I feel like I've fucked half the program.”

“I mean, it's a small program, you might've.”

Keith wrinkles his nose and makes another unsuccessful attempt at theft. “Gross.”

“Eh, are you enjoying it at least?” Keith throws Matt a flat look, earning himself a shrug in return as Matt continues. “I mean, what's the harm? You're young, you're having fun... I don't see what the issue here is.”

“I guess you're right,” Keith sighs, flopping back against the arm of the couch. “I just feel kinda... stuck. Like this is all there is.”

“You should get a tattoo,” says the paragon of bad ideas.

“ _Huh_.”

Regris knows a guy, which makes sense considering there's only about five percent of his body not covered in ink at this point. And of course, since Regris is Regris, the guy is willing to slide Keith in ahead of the year long wait – and for a discount.

Friendship truly is the gift that keeps on giving.

Continuing his trend of not thinking too hard about things, Keith settles for getting a tattoo of a red lion – a huge thing that covers his back and stretches from thigh to shoulders, mouth open in a snarl. The hours spent face down on the bench are some of the most relaxing of his life, and a small part of him has to wonder if he's not a little bit broken – since the buzz and sting and firm hand steadying him are more arousing and mind-melting than most of his hookups. It doesn't hurt that the artist, Thace, is beyond handsome, in a grizzled sort of way.

It doesn't take long for Keith to convince him that some after-hours check-ups are needed... to see if it's healing nicely of course.

Ryan offers him a knowing fist bump the next time he's over. Regris asks what he's getting next.

Matt makes him install a mirrored ceiling over his bed, because 'it kinda looks like the cat is running when your back flexes!'

His life is surreal, at best.

The semester ends, and he's made Dean's list again, though he can't exactly bring himself to be too excited over it. He starts getting emails from his professors asking him about grad school opportunities and his future plans – his adviser even lays out a list of potential career tracks he may be interested in during one of their mandatory meetings at the beginning of his senior year.

But honestly, grad school already kicked him in the balls once, there's no reason to go begging for more.

Besides, now he knows a guy who knows a guy. Thace's husband, who is thankfully open to sharing the wealth and didn't kill Keith on the spot for propositioning his spouse, happens to be the head of R&D in one of the engineering labs in the city. 'Intellectual grease monkeying' he called it... and Keith now has a standing offer and a network of equally scary and thirst inducing professional contacts.

A year and a half ago he was an awkward tag-along to an already established group, struggling to keep up with his classes and spending all his free time mooning and begging for scraps of love. Now he's got more people around him than he knows what to do with and the easy knowledge that he belongs somewhere.

Life is funny like that sometimes.

Life's also a bitch.

It's the only explanation for the nice sweet peaches & cream colored envelope sitting on the counter between him and Matt on an early September morning.

They'd been planning on how to best celebrate Keith's 'two years later single-bration' as Matt has obnoxiously insisted on calling it. Frankly, Keith thinks it's a bit morbidly unnecessary, but his overly enthused roommate isn't one to be deterred from a party.

Except, well...

“Just open it.” Keith rubs his temples as Matt scowls at the envelope that had been hand delivered to their door by a skinny teenager in the middle of their plotting. “It's not going to bite.”

Matt sucks his teeth, eyes darting between the envelope and Keith, like it's not the envelope he's worried about doing the biting.

“I'm _fine_. Whatever it is, I'm fine... two years, remember?”

The gusty sigh is a little dramatic, but Keith can appreciate the concern behind it.

Matt snatches it up and rips the flap open without preamble, dumping the whole thing full of lacy doily paper and glittery confetti onto the counter.

“Ugh.”

Keith rolls his eyes and pushes down the familiar ugly sticky pit in his stomach. “Classy.”

Matt grunts his agreement and picks up the biggest card, eyebrows rising to his hairline even as his nose wrinkles in distaste. He doesn't say anything.

Keith clears his throat. “So, what is it?”

He doesn't need to ask.

“It's... an invitation,” Matt hedges, mouth twisting into something sour the more he reads.

“For?”

He really, really doesn't need to ask.

But he's always been a masochist, and judging by the pinch on Matt's face he knows exactly what Keith's doing.

“Shiro's wedding, to some guy.”

And there it is.

The sticky pit feels like it's gluing his lungs together, in a distant sense. It's not quite like drowning, not like before. More like a clinically detached realization that some people get to move on and find happily-ever-after real feelings with other people, and have love and all that other bullshit instead of looking for warmth and fucking feelings in someone else's body and the drag of a needle on flesh and-

“Are you going?”

Matt cuts him a look, like Keith's an idiot for asking.

“To a shotgun wedding that'll be in tatters before the honeymoon?” He snorts and shakes his head. “No thanks.”

“He's your friend,” Keith prods, like someone who can't stop wiggling a loose tooth. “I bet he'd like to see you there.”

“That's too bad.” Matt hops down from the stool and turns to rummage through their junk drawer, digging around until he produces a lighter with a flourish. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Isn't that a bit dramatic?”

“Please,” Matt scoffs, flicking the lighter absently, “what's dramatic is glitter confetti, this shit is going to be in the carpets for weeks.”

Keith bites down his smile at Matt's obvious deflection, grateful for the hundredth time that he didn't lose him in the breakup too.

“Sure Matt... this can be single-bration step one, right?”

They may set off the smoke alarms and annoy their neighbors, but Keith can't remember the last time he laughed so hard as he and Matt fling the charred remains out the window.

From there things are... lighter. Like a weight he hadn't known he was still dragging around had been lifted. Or, more accurately, like the stupid choking last vestige of false hope yoked around his neck had finally up and died.

Can't mourn a married man after all.

The little silver band that's been living in his closet takes a field trip down to the coast. They build a bonfire – two porn stars, two space nerds, and a disgruntled bartender – and Keith celebrates two years free by throwing that silver band as hard as he can into the ocean. A cheer goes up when it clears the buoy line and disappears into the black.

They get so trashed he's surprised nobody ended up in the fire – and even more surprised when he catches Matt crawling out of Acxa's tent the next morning, dazed and covered in bite marks.

She is utterly unapologetic of course, smirking at them over a boiled cup of coffee.

“You know, Keith... I can see the appeal now.”

Matt's coffee trembles in his hands as he offers her a pained smile, looking equally terrified and aroused.

Keith's glad his friends all get along.

At least, the ones worth keeping around.

That had been the unexpected trade-off to finding his own way in life... Friday pizza nights became increasingly rare as his original friend group turned more and more into a trio and two strays. Not that Keith can really blame them... they'd been good friends in those first few months of his train wreck, but he'd been the last to join their little bubble – the weird kid that Shiro shuffled from play date to play date. Really, it's no surprise that now the most interaction he has is Hunk showing up in the library with smuggled food and a smile.

He appreciates it, and can look back fondly on what they had... but, like everything else in his life, he can accept when something is over.

Honestly, he's starting to realize that the end of this year is going to be exactly that... and for the first time, maybe he kinda gets it. Wanting to start fresh after being somewhere with the same people for four years, a new beginning with the chance to make your own way without baggage. It's a... liberating thought. That he can leave this place behind and move on without the mess.

He starts going to the gym.

Usually Ryan comes with him, critiquing his form and making encouraging commentary about how great his ass is going to look on camera after the next set of squats.

Sometimes Matt shows up, cringing at all the physical activity as he slinks over to the yoga class – claiming he needs to find a way to keep his legs from 'snapping off when she does that thing.'

Keith tries not to think too hard about that one, especially when Acxa asks him if Matt can walk again the next time he's at the bar.

And so the year goes. He works steadily on this thesis, goes to the gym, has a few hook-ups a week, gets more tattoos, and generally enjoys himself. It's not until they're nearing graduation that he even stops to consider what his moving on might look like.

He broaches the topic with Matt over a few beers, and isn't surprised to hear that he too is going off to grad school – though not quite so far away. Unfortunately, it is far enough away that it means Keith is going to lose the best roommate he's ever had. Which is fine.

He'd expected this after all, nothing and no one is permanent.

Graduation happens with more of a whimper than a bang. He considers not walking since he doesn't have any family to disappoint anyway, but Matt won't hear any of it and threatens to skip if Keith skips... which means Colleen threatens Keith's life in the kindest terms possible if she doesn't get her pictures – and he really can't disappoint her, not after she'd made him a family Christmas sweater last year.

So he walks, and he sees the others for the first time in a few months. Pidge is still short, Lance is still annoying, Hunk is still wonderful. They hover around making small talk for a few minutes, roping Keith into the world's most awkward group photo that's thankfully broken up by the arrival of several hulking tattooed behemoths that Keith now realizes must have been his unexpectedly loud cheering section. He gets swept up in a whirlwind of congratulations and back thumping, crushed into a bear hug when Regris hooks him and Ryan by the neck to plant a messy kiss on each cheek.

“Look at you fuckin nerds!” he laughs, squeezing tight as he beams at them. “I'm so fuckin proud of you guys... we should put your diplomas on the wall during the stream.”

They do not do that, but Keith appreciates the sentiment all the same.

He and Matt have exactly one afternoon of awkward tip-toeing around each other post-graduation before deciding everything is ridiculous.

They spend the summer getting cross-faded and fucking on every surface in every way they can think to defile the apartment – a 'last hurrah' as Matt says. Keith starts his new job working under Kolivan and Matt gets the syllabus for his new program.

And then it's all in boxes, Matt's covered in green tape that he stole from Pidge and Keith's in borrowed record crates piled high with the accumulated knick-knacks he's decided can stay for a while.

The new apartment is about the same size, but much nicer now that he's got a salary and something to do with it. He spends his first paycheck buying all the art he could never have as a kid getting passed between homes – vibrant splashy canvasses and the deep hues of nebulas marking the place as his own. Then he buys a set of real plates, the ceramic kind with red edges and a spray of abstract flowers across them, because he's an adult.

Soon he's got thousand count sateen sheets on his bed and the good whiskey his dad used to drink in his cupboards. If they were still in touch he figures Lance would probably be proud of him. Hunk would definitely approve of the cherry red kitchenaid on his counter and the classes Keith's decided to take in his free evenings.

Dinner becomes something better than frozen pizza and mac and cheese as he learns how to properly saute and dice, and his social circle expands to include the nice ladies who work in the farmer's market he visits every Saturday morning.

Which, incidentally, is how he finds Kosmo – the runt of the litter that Gladys is desperately trying to find homes for and, well... Keith always did want a dog.

His apartment becomes the new home of a rambunctious puppy with ears and paws that make up a good sixty percent of his current size. Keith loves him more than he's ever loved anything or anyone.

He cheerfully wakes up at five each morning to go jogging with his new friend, even if jogging is more like a sprint-and-stop meander, ping-ponging between patches of grass for Kosmo to pee or roll in depending on his mood. Keith even goes all out and buys luxury dog beds big enough to fit Kos's entire litter and a few friends – just in case he ever grows into those paws.

It's a good thing too, since his best boy grows into approximately the size of a small horse by the end of their first year together – much to the delight of his friends and their groupies and everyone else at the labs who beg Keith to bring him to every picnic and outdoor outing they can conceivably plan. Of course, they're not the ones who have to feed and brush his whale of a dog, but really even that is a small price to pay for the unbridled joy Kosmo brings into his life.

Matt is salty, because he wanted a dog too and their old apartment didn't allow them, so Keith is obligated to bring Kosmo along when he drives out to visit him – which happens to include an obnoxiously large gathering of all their friends who want to meet Keith's dog, whether or not Keith necessarily wants them to meet his dog.

But that's a bit uncharitable... especially since Hunk shows up with gourmet handmade dog biscuits that he's lovingly crafted after hours of research on Kosmo's breed's preferences. Keith doesn't have the heart to tell him that Kos eats literally anything, including his socks and unguarded pizza.

Lance shows up with Allura – and it's a testament to years of carefully crafting his poker face that Keith doesn't spit his drink out in surprise when they wander around the corner arm-in-arm. Everyone knew about the ever-burning candle he held for her, though nobody really expected her to stoop... but stoop she has, and deeply - if the hand hovering around her still-flat stomach is any indication.

When she turns down a glass of champagne with a glittering wave of her hand it's all but confirmed, much to the delighted squealing of Colleen who's been good-naturedly checking in on 'her kids' from the window.

Keith shakes his head with a laugh as everyone bombards them with questions – including when the wedding will be. He's happy for them, but he's damn glad it's not him.

“You're all invited, of course.” Allura beams at them as she chatters on. “I know it's not exactly traditional, but Shiro is going to be my maid of honor, so it'll be like one big reunion!”

The metaphorical record scratch is nearly audible as four heads swivel to look at Keith, who merely lifts an eyebrow in return.

“That's cool, Allura.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer with a steady hand, the other resting lightly in his best friend's fur. “Wouldn't he be the matron of honor though?”

Crickets.

“Oh, well... no?” She cocks her head at him, giving him that funny look she always used to from years back when she couldn't figure out if he was joking. “He's not married.”

He blinks at her, then over at Matt who offers an apologetic shrug.

“Huh... alright then, maid it is.”

The night moves on from there, with Matt throwing him glances like he's afraid Keith might slide into sophomore year breakdown mode.

It might annoy him, if he wasn't a grown man who understands it's coming from a place of concern... and, you know, he's got a full life of his own to get back to tomorrow.

Still, he can't stifle his sigh when Matt creeps up to him as he's packing up his cooler at the end of the night.

“It's fine, Matt.”

“You don't even know what I was going to say,” Matt grumbles, plopping down directly on the thing Keith needs to haul into his truck. “I could've been offering to suck your dick.”

“That'd still be fine,” Keith teases, crouching down and bracing before lifting the entire cooler – Matt and all – into the bed of his truck. “I'm not about to turn down my most reliable fuck buddy.”

“Yeah, well...” Matt sniffs, like he's not holding onto the cooler with white knuckles after his brief flight. “As your most reliable fuck-buddy I wanted to say I'm sorry for not warning you.”

“Matt,” Keith sighs and leans on the tailgate next to his best friend. “I'm happy, honestly. It's been... _god_ , it's been four years. We've been broken up longer than I even knew him.”

“I know, it's just-” Matt cuts himself off, waffling on whether to draw Keith's ire before sucking in a breath and forging on. “You just never really dated after him, you know? Like, I know you've had a lot of sex, believe me... and you have friends, and a life, but... I worry about you.”

And there it is, Keith thinks. The itty bitty kernel of truth that he's been deftly ignoring – because Matt's not wrong. He hasn't dated, and doesn't have any intention to. What's the point when that shit is fleeting and someone might fuck right off for no reason in particular after talking about the future with you for god knows how long... what's the point when all the words in the world don't mean a fucking thing in the end?

“Matt, I love you.” Keith claps a hand on his friend's shoulder, smothering his smirk at Matt's instantly suspicious face. “That's why I'm telling you that you don't have to worry about me, okay? I'm not the dating kind... and most people don't take too kindly to someone who's down to fuck their friends on camera on a weekly basis anyway.”

“Keith...”

“No, for real, I'm good.” Keith smiles at him, and it's not even an effort. “You can even invite him to these things, wherever he is now or whatever... husband or... whatever is going on there. I'm not made of glass.”

Matt cringes, but shrugs noncommittally. “He um... that whole wedding thing... Pidge went and uh... he got left at the altar, Keith.”

“Oh _damn_.” Keith winces, shaking his head at the night sky. “That's fuckin' rough.”

And he means it. There's not even a flicker of vindictive joy left in him to celebrate that Shiro had been hurt like he had been... just pity.

“Yeah,” Matt sucks his teeth and throws Keith a pained glance. “Apparently uh... he almost fucked up with a different guy's name and that was the last straw... it was a whole ugly mess.”

“Oh _fuck._ ” Keith can't help his giggles this time, awful little things that bubble up out of him when he doesn't know quite what else to do. “Jesus christ... there's no coming back from that one is there?”

Matt breaks and starts snickering beside him, shaking his head as he drags a hand through his hair. “Yeah, no... that's just... I mean. Lance is having nightmares about doing it on accident now.”

“Allura would _slaughter_ him,” Keith blurts, overcome by another wave of laughter at the thought. “They'd never find all his body parts.”

“She'd be a decent single mom at least?”

Keith snorts and punches Matt on the arm, then hops up into the bed of the truck and forces him to share cooler space, slinging an arm around Matt's shoulder as they gaze up at the night sky.

“You should invite him. I mean it.” He lets his head tip into Matt's like how they used to fall asleep on the couch together. “He probably needs friends right now, you know? I can't imagine it went over well with his ex's crowd.”

“You're not wrong,” Matt sighs, nudging his temple into Keith's and bumping their knees together. “He's... well... he's kind of a fucking mess.”

“Sucks... invite him next time.”

“Okay... I will.”

What Keith doesn't tell Matt is that he has no intention of being there next time.

The last thing a newly, _painfully_ single dude needs is to feel awkward with his own friends because his clingy college ex is there.

In fact, he's not there the next few times – which prompts Hunk to start mailing him dog treats with little sad face sticky notes, which makes Keith feel guilty enough to send back pictures of Kosmo devouring the packages.

Matt is less than amused, but generally understanding when Keith explains his reasoning.

“You know, he's not gonna break either,” Matt grunts over the phone as he clatters away on something in the background. “I think he can handle your continued existence.”

“Probably,” Keith agrees, because he's reasonable like that now and can accept when his friends make good points. “But it'd still be kinda weird... I'll just let him get settled and then kinda... slide back around every once in a while.”

“Well, make it sooner rather than later. I'd like to see my best friend sometime, you know.”

“Aww Mattycakes, I knew you missed my dick.”

“I hate you... and yes.”

Keith gives it another month, delaying until he's out grabbing lunch with Regris and Ryan when Matt's text messages start to roll in demanding he come to the barbecue that night. So, he asks if they can tag along, and that's that.

If anything they'll provide a nice social buffer, keeping Shiro from having to feel like he needs to make awkward small talk with the friendless stray he scooped from the trash. Besides, everyone else already knows and likes them, it'll be fine.

It is... mostly.

They pile out of Keith's truck like a clown car, two burly dudes who can barely squeeze into the cab and Keith's horse of a dog. It's a whole production, drawing a small crowd of his other friends as Regris gives up watching Keith try to haul Kosmo from his nice comfy nest and picks him up bodily, slinging him over his shoulder with a hand on his ass. Kosmo, the traitor, follows cheerfully.

Keith sighs and plants his elbow on Regris's back, cupping his chin as he makes his way toward the back yard where he can hear the fire pit crackling.

“Don't trip and throw me into that shit,” he grumbles, pinching at the closest kidney for good measure.

He gets a slap on the ass for his troubles.

“Wouldn't dream of it, darling.”

And then his world goes topsy-turvy as he's plopped onto a bench like a ragdoll, promptly sandwiched by muscle and dog.

“Ugh... a little less of the spinning next time,” he grumbles, pressing a hand over his eyes to blink the nausea away. “I can't be too sick for Colleen's macaroni salad.”

“It's perfect tonight too,” a voice rumbles across the fire pit, freezing Keith's hand. “Extra dill, you'll love it.”

Keith feels the corner of his mouth twitch as he drops his hand, lifting his gaze to find the guy who used to buy him gallon jars of pickles like other people gift chocolates.

“Hey Shiro.” Keith offers him a smile, pleased to find out just how easy it is. “Been a while.”

It's the understatement of the year. It feels like forever and no time at all – and he's looking kinda rough with the all white hair and tired lines around his eyes... though apparently he didn't lose the crimson blush that stains his ears when he's uncomfortable.

“Yeah... it's nice to see you?” Shiro offers hesitantly, like he's unsure even that will be welcome. “I um... haven't heard much since... uh... well.”

“Yeah,” Keith huffs a dry laugh. “I'm not much for social media, so...”

“You mean you're a cryptid,” Ryan laughs, wandering over with three plates loaded with food. “I think your blurry outline is in half a dozen of our pictures and that's about it.”

Regris laughs beside him, nodding as he accepts a plate. “Yeah, but he shows up on camera when he needs to, right?”

“You _guys_ ,” Keith definitely does not whine, not wanting to incur the teasing of his friends that have mostly managed to forget that Keith occasionally shoots porn. “Matt's _mom_ is here.”

“Fine, we'll play nice... for tonight.”

An arm curls around his waist, a blatant message that doesn't really need to be sent, but Keith appreciates the thought... even if Ryan had apparently filled in Regris about the whole 'Keith's ex is going to be there' thing.

Though it also helps that Kosmo has planted himself at Keith's feet and refuses to do anything but stare Shiro down.

“So, Shirogane,” Ryan grunts over his plate as the others finally come traipsing back into the yard with their own food. “What've you been up to since you left us plebs back at ol' Garrison U?”

“Oh, uh...” Shiro looks startled at the question, like he hadn't considered new people meant catching up all over again. “Well, I finished my graduate degree, got a job, almost got married... uh... then I kinda crashed and burned and came back home, so...”

The awkward chuckle he ends on makes Keith's skin crawl with second-hand embarrassment.

“I hear you're Allura's maid of honor,” he swoops in, offering another pasta-filled smile. “Is she running you ragged yet?”

“Hey!”

“No,” Shiro huffs, casting a playful glance over at Allura's squawk of protest. “She hasn't hit the bridezilla stage yet.”

“Because she's perfect,” Lance chimes in, mooning over his fiance like a love-sick fool.

Pidge and Matt make exaggerated gagging sounds in the background, of course, and Hunk looks at Lance like a proud uncle.

It all feels strangely familiar.

It's... nice.

Nice enough that next time he shows up without the social buffers – just him and Kosmo wandering into the Holts' backyard. This time Kosmo isn't quite so wary, immediately getting all up in Shiro's business to investigate who this new person is and why he makes his dad twitchy.

To his credit, Shiro barely flinches when a dog the size of a horse butts into his personal space to sniff every nook and cranny of his life.

“Well, I'm glad I'm not a drug mule,” Shiro laughs as Kosmo jams his snout into his ass. “I'd have been busted for sure by now.”

“Kosmo, c'mere,” Keith wheedles, wiggling a stick from beside the fire. “Leave poor Shiro alone, he's fine.”

Kosmo disagrees, giving Shiro a put-upon _whuff_ as he trots back to Keith's feet, completely ignoring the stick.

“Okay, whatever, good enough,” Keith grumbles, having long ago given up on a dog that plays fetch. “Thank you.”

“He's a pretty boy,” Shiro offers, earning himself at least one point in Keith's book... not that he's counting. “What breed is he?”

“Dunno.” Keith shrugs, scratching through the fur at Kosmo's ears. “Ask Hunk, I think he looked it up... he's just my good boy.”

“That's good, I'm glad you have him.” The corner of Shiro's mouth pulls into a tight, small thing. “You look happy.”

“I am.”

And somehow, it's that simple. After more than four years since his life ended on a sunny Friday afternoon, Keith is happy... which is more than he can say for Shiro.

“I'm sorry about your whole marriage thing,” Keith offers, because he doesn't know what else to do, and he really is. “I only heard about it recently and kinda vaguely, but... you know... that shit is rough.”

“Yeah, well... thanks.” Shiro laughs, humorless. “It was for the best though... we definitely rushed into it and... well... I obviously wasn't really in it if I almost said my ex's name, right?”

“ _Oof_.” Keith shakes his head, cringing as he snatches up one the root beers from his cooler and takes a swig. “Didn't hear that part... did Adam get a laugh at least?” Shiro doesn't answer him. When Keith glances up he's gaping like a fish. “What?”

“Nothing, I- um.” Shiro shakes his head and scrubs a hand down his face. “No, I don't think anyone was laughing... except like... karma.”

“Ah well... you'll find someone.”

It's a useless platitude, but Keith remembers Shiro always seemed to like those, doling them out like candy to hapless freshmen. Unfortunately it doesn't seem to have the same curative effect coming from him.

“Thanks, Keith... but I think maybe... I'm better off alone.”

“Hah! Cheers.” Keith tips his bottle across the fire, sharing a knowing grin. “It's served me well for years now – can't fuck it up if you're only there to fuck, right?”

Shiro's face heats up and he lets out a sound like a dying balloon.

“I thought you uh... those two guys aren't...”

“Oh god no.” Keith snorts, shaking his head even as he stretches up to look around for their suspiciously absent friends. “Those two are a great lay, but I'm not keen on being in anyone's throuple... where did Matt go?”

“He um... he ran inside when you pulled up, said he was grabbing more snacks.”

“Ah.” Keith realizes, all at once, that his friends are still well-meaning assholes. “Well, I'm gonna go hunt his skinny ass down.”

Shiro probably makes some sort of agreeable response, but Keith is already halfway to the house, eye twitching as he shoulders the door open – nearly hitting two angel-faced Holts.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?”

“Getting snacks,” Pidge drawls, wiggling a bag of Chex mix at him. “Duh.”

“My ass,” Keith grunts, smacking them out of her hand. “Look, stop fucking meddling, alright? I agreed to come be friends, because that's what normal adult people do. You guys are being fucking weird about this, so stop.”

Matt's shoulders hitch up to his ears, the picture of discomfort as the screen door opens behind Keith.

“Don't be mad at them, please.” Shiro sounds exhausted, which is the only reason Keith doesn't shrug his stupid hand right off when it lands on his shoulder. “I asked them to give us some time alone.”

“For what,” Keith grinds out, not bothering to turn around as he scowls at Matt in betrayal, “I don't need closure or whatever you think you're trying to do here.”

“Maybe I do.”

It's a plea if Keith's ever heard one, but he's just... so fucking... _angry._

He sucks in a deep breath and counts to five before blowing it out... then he shrugs off the hand.

“Look, Shiro. _You_ left. Not me. You left and didn't look back, and that's okay because it's your life. I have my own life, and it's pretty good. I don't need you stirring shit up because you feel bad or... _whatever_ almost five years later. You didn't feel bad then, don't feel bad now. Okay? Just... _don't_.”

Then he's shouldering past his shell-shocked ex and whistling for Kosmo, who's back to his bristled protective pacing.

The screen door bangs shut behind him and he cringes, but it's only Matt jogging up to him.

“Wait, Keith, I'm sorry-”

“I'm not mad at you, Matt... I know he's your friend too.” He pulls Matt in for a rough hug before releasing him and turning back to the truck. “I'm just... I'm not gonna do this, you know? I'm not gonna be the outlet of his misplaced guilt... I'll see you later.”

He lives his life. His happy, dog and friend filled, wonderful life. He cooks delicious meals for one, and goes to movies alone, and hangs out with his work-buddies and fuck-buddies and has a great few months of peace.

And then the first letter arrives in a familiar scrawl, and he wants to scream.

He settles for calling Matt.

“Hey buddy, why the fuck am I getting letters from Shiro?”

The other side of the line is a strangled wheeze.

“I didn't do it! I swear! Don't send Kosmo after me!”

“Well who fucking did,” Keith growls, pulling at the roots of his hair with his free hand, “can't he take a fucking hint? Jesus, someone get the man a therapist.”

“He has one,” Matt offers, in a shitty attempt at placation, “I think this is probably part of it.”

“Well tell him to fucking _stop._ ”

They don't stop.

He gets two more letters, one every month or so, and he doesn't give a fuck what they say... but he also can't bring himself to throw them out.

So he does the rational, reasonable thing.

He orders his body weight in takeout, pours himself a highball of whiskey, and opens them when he's so drunk he can barely read.

_Keith,_

_I want to start off by saying I'm sorry, I'm an asshole, and you deserved better. I'm glad you're happy now, even if I'm sorry that it couldn't be with me. I fucked up a lot of things in my life, but leaving you will always be my biggest regret, and I don't want you to keep thinking that you were easy to leave behind. The truth is I nearly failed my last semester because I couldn't stand missing you. I thought about you every single day, I cried so much Allura took me to an emergency shrink. You probably don't care now, but I want you to know that I did care then. I cared so much, and I'm a fucking idiot._

_I said your name to another man at my wedding, did you know that? I don't think you did. I said your name because I'd always imagined it would be you that I'd be standing across from, until I fucked all that up. Anyway, I'm sorry and I love you._

_Always yours,_

_Shiro_

“What the fuck?” Keith croaks into the empty living room, holding the letter in one hand and his head in the other. “Of all the fucking bullshit... what even...”

Kosmo whines from his bed on the floor and patters over, hopping up on the couch to settle over Keith like a giant furry blanket.

“Fucking hell, Kos,” Keith groans into his fur, grateful for at least some barrier between this nonsense. “He's lost his goddamn mind.”

Kosmo whines again, licking at his face.

“I know, buddy. I love you too.”

He throws the letter on the floor, equal parts infuriated and nauseous that Shiro's trying this shit now, after nearly five years of radio silence. After Keith's managed to carve himself this single fucking happy niche in the world _without_ him... rebuilding his whole fucking life plan from the rubble Shiro left behind without a backward glance...

“The next one better be a fucking apology for this shit,” he snarls to himself, snatching the envelope off the table and tearing into it with vengeance.

_Keith,_

_I realize you probably don't want to hear from me after all this, so I'll keep this one short. I don't want you to forgive me – I haven't done anything to earn it. I just want you to know that it wasn't anything you did, and that you were worth it. You still are... you meant everything to me and I threw it away like a fool. Wherever you go in life I hope you're happy. I hope you're loved. I hope you let yourself trust again after I failed you so completely. I'm sorry._

_Shiro._

“You know what-” Keith grits his teeth together, chest heaving as he shakes the paper around for Kosmo to see, “-this is a bunch of fucking... the fucking nerve of his asshole.”

He balls the paper up and throws it against the far wall where it bounces off a painting with an unsatisfying thwap. Kosmo huffs in solidarity, burrowing his face into Keith's thighs and aiming his best puppy eyes upward.

“I know Kos.” Keith grunts, digging his fingers into the wiry fur in his lap. “I can't fucking believe him either. What a selfish prick.”

The last envelope sits there, taunting him in his drunken fury. He has half a mind to throw it straight into the garbage without reading it, but he's also never been one to back down from a fight.

It gets torn open without preamble and he gears himself up for more rage.

_Keith,_

_I am so, so fucking sorry. Oh my god, even for this. My therapist told me to write you these letters... I didn't realize she meant as an exercise and didn't want me to send them, I'm such a fucking asshole. Matt read me the riot act, he told me to stop contacting you – he said I was being a 'creepy motherfucker' and I guess he knows you better than I do now, so... fuck. God, even this one... I just wanted to apologize, for everything._

_Fuck I hope you didn't read these. I'm so sorry._

There's not even a sign off, and Keith feels oddly cheated.

Almost half a fucking decade, and all he gets is the therapeutic rambling of a broken man who fucked his own life up and is now drowning in regrets... Keith can't even bring himself to hate him properly at this point. Like, sure he's pissed, but... that's just sad. There are actual, honest to god tear stains on the paper.

Keith can't even remember the last time he cried that wasn't from someone fucking him into incoherence.

How can you be mad at someone who hates himself more than you ever could? Because at the end of the day... he doesn't. He can't hate Shiro... not after everything and all the distance between him and the pain of an untimely breakup. Hell, they were kids... they still are, really. Kids with bills and a little more life and heartache under their belts – a little older and wiser hopefully, but still just people trying to get by.

Keith sighs and tosses the letter back onto the table, his anger burning out into embers.

His best friend whines in his lap, an anchor into this happy life he can call his own.

Keith strokes one fuzzy ear, tips his head back onto the couch, and closes his eyes.

He doesn't write back. Or text back. Or even bother to find out if Shiro ever changed his number.

He doesn't need to spend his energy fixing a broken man full of regrets.

Matt starts asking if he wants to hang out away from the house, and Keith appreciates the effort he's making. They grab lunch and dinner in the city between them, sometimes doing fun almost-date things, sometimes springing for a hotel room when they're feeling lazy and pent up enough to fuck in the middle ground between their respective apartments and eat room-service in bed the next morning.

It's a nice compromise between having to deal with the awkwardness of everyone else and losing his friend completely.

He RSVPs to Allura and Lance's wedding without hesitation when the baby blue envelope shows up in his mailbox. She's going to make a beautiful bride, even if she'll be several months pregnant at the altar – something he knows Lance is never going to live down if his mother has anything to say about it.

Still, he's actually looking forward to it in a weird sort of way. The natural progression of their separate lives playing out in so many little events.

Hunk plans to launch his very own catering company shortly after the wedding – with the reception being his trial run, of course. Even the notoriously tight-lipped Pidge had cracked enough to mention via Matt that she's been seeing someone and is thinking of moving in with them.

It's all very surreal – the slow parting of ways that began years before, when their group splintered at the graduation of Shiro and Allura and never really coalesced properly again. Not that Keith is particularly surprised or heartbroken about any of it, having removed himself to the sidelines to watch from afar as his own life took a meandering path through various patches of hedonism.

Still, he can see the chasms begin to grow between them, setting them all slowly drifting their separate ways.

Except, of course, for Matt – who has firmly anchored himself adjacent to Keith's own little island, for which he is eternally grateful.

Which is why he doesn't check the plus one box on his invitation, knowing that his red vest is going to clash horribly with Matt's orange one, and he's going to revel in every second of Lance's existential pain when he sees them.

He learns through the grapevine that Shiro will be in purple, because he's Allura's maid of honor and that's what her bridesmaids are wearing. He also learns that her other bridesmaid is a 'bubblegum smoke-show' and he briefly considers bringing Acxa just in case she's interested – but then remembers her utterly delightful and crushingly blunt assessment of Matt and thinks that maybe his wedding isn't the best place to have her meet Lance... he can always get the girl's number later if she passes muster anyway.

He keeps living, and living well.

Sometime around December Regris and Ryan finally admit they're more than business partners and Keith can heave a giant sigh of relief that he doesn't have to pretend not to know they've been in love with each other for years. It also means that he gets to rock up to the courthouse on a Tuesday afternoon in ripped jeans and a leather jacket to witness them get hitched a week later – their reception is probably much more fun than the one he's been expecting, packed into a firehouse with dozens of bikers and rockers, and various scruffy hooligans they've picked up over the years.

Keith can't even say he goes home with the best man – since he'd been officially granted that role by both the grooms when he showed up with the rings they'd forgotten at their apartment, after cheerfully teasing them over the spare key he still has.

He does go home with the bartender though, grateful for the first time in his life that it isn't Acxa mixing his drinks – though if the hot blonde she's got on her arm is any indication, she's doing just fine without his company.

Waking up in his own bed the next morning is a surprise, and he's grateful that his guest had let themselves out without more than a friendly sticky-note with a phone number on it – the perks of fishing in a familiar pond.

The sticky note goes into his drawer with all the others, his version of a dating app – tried and true.

The stickiness on his body gets washed down the drain along with suds from his favorite pricey body wash and the tune on his lips.

Kosmo barks outside the bathroom door, impatiently waiting to go on their morning walk, and Keith huffs a laugh to himself as he twists the tap and dries off.

Life is good.

Matt texts him asking if he wants to grab lunch and catch up, it's been a week or two after all. Keith smiles down at his phone as he grabs Kosmo's leash and taps back an affirmative – and asks how everyone is doing.

Hunk is stress-baking, Lance is a nervous wreck, Pidge is having a crisis over realizing she does in fact have gooey feelings inside, Allura is craving disgusting food at strange hours, and Shiro's been doing a lot better.

Keith's glad for the snapshot into their lives, even if he's not quite a part of it anymore.

He clips the leash around Kosmo's collar and steps out into the sun.

As it turns out, Keith was right on all counts.

Weddings _are_ significantly less fun when they're all formal and shit, Lance _does_ have a conniption when he sees him and Matt arm in arm in their clashing vests, and Hunk really _should_ have placed his business cards next to the buffet table – 'tackiness' be damned.

He's also ninety-nine percent certain the aforementioned 'smoke-show' bridesmaid is in fact Acxa's new girlfriend... but he's not certain enough to crush Matt's drooling feelings. Who knows? Maybe he'll get the threesome of his dreams out of it.

Either way, he feels warm here despite the late January chill, touched by the adoration on Lance's face as he blubbers out his vows to a heavily pregnant and equally emotional Allura. Even Matt looks a little misty beside him, prompting Keith to knock their knees together in a little bump of reassurance.

Shiro, ever the softy, has been offered a handkerchief by the bridesmaid next to him and has made good use of it. Even with the red eyes it's easy to see that he looks far better than he had months ago, and Keith is happy for him.

Enough so that he doesn't even begrudge Matt for scampering off to the dessert line, leaving an opening for Shiro to sheepishly approach Keith at their table.

“Uhm... hello.” He waves from several feet away, like he half expects Keith to send him packing just for existing.

“Hey Shiro,” Keith offers him a smile and plants his toe on the edge of the nearest chair, pushing it out in invitation. “What's up?”

“I-” He hesitates, hovering at the edge of the space, then slides into the chair and looks at Keith with wide eyes. “Just wanted to say... hello.”

“Well, hello.” There's a smirk trying to crawl its way onto Keith's face, but he knows it'll be taken the wrong way, so he reigns it in and reclines in his chair. “You look nice tonight.”

And he does. He always did.

“Thanks... you look great too... bigger.”

“The gym'll do that,” Keith agrees, cocking an eyebrow as Shiro fidgets before taking pity on him. “I read your letters.”

“I am _so sorry_ -” Shiro blurts, clapping his hands to his forehead and startling a laugh out of Keith. “I'm a fucking moron, and I never should have sent them... it was so dumb.”

“I mean, yeah.” Keith chuckles, casually waving off Matt's concerned flailing from the cake table. “It really was. Are you feeling better at least?”

“Yes.” It's a definitive answer, and comes from a man with clear eyes. Keith is glad for it. “I learned a lot, and realized some things about myself, and... my therapist is really great.”

“That's awesome, Shiro.” Keith smiles at him, warm and genuine. “I'm really happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

The moment lapses into silence, and Keith lets his gaze drift toward the fairy lights decorating the ceiling – whimsical little sparkles that lend the dining hall a cozy ambiance. Once upon a time even the thought of this moment would have sent him into a panicked spiral, but now?

Now he's a different man, self-assured and well-loved by the family he's found along the way. Now he thinks that maybe other people deserve the friendship he found to carry him through.

“Hey Shiro?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to start over?” Keith asks, patient through Shiro's initial startle at the question.

“What do you mean?” It's an overly careful counter, the question of a man unwilling to overstep his boundaries.

“You know, like...” Keith straightens up, sticks out his hand, and puts on his best winning smile – the one he usually saves for dogs. “Hi, my name is Keith.”

“Uh... hi Keith, my name is Shiro.”

The hand that grips his to shake isn't familiar anymore – new callouses taking the place of old ones, and clammier than he remembers... but that's fine.

“Hi Shiro.” Keith beams at him and pulls his hand away. “It's nice to meet you.”

So they chat. Old friends who became strangers becoming new friends again. People spin around on the floor beside them, sometimes stepping in and leading one of them in whatever dance is on Lance's terrible playlist. Cake appears in front of them when they return to the table, seeming somehow to manage to find each other through the night...

And when the night winds down Keith realizes that maybe the worst sting of it all so long ago had been losing a friend. So when Shiro sucks in a steadying breath and asks if he can maybe please have Keith's phone number to continue their conversation, well...

Keith holds out his hand and accepts Shiro's phone, scrolling down to the contact with his name – untouched with its little red heart and the text asking him to come to the park a lifetime before.

He smiles down at it, deletes the log, and edits his name – leaving a dog and smiley face where the heart had been.

Shiro's contact becomes a rocket ship in his own phone, and Keith smiles when he sees that too.

Later that night, as he lays in bed with his dog in his lovely apartment, he can't help but appreciate what the last five years have given him.

He picks his phone up off the table.

_Have you ever wanted to go to the Grand Canyon?_

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me on Twitter @illunelurks ! :)


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